


Crazy Pho You

by blue_morning



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's love of burgers, Ficlet, M/M, Pho, Spring rolls, canon verse ish, hunter husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 10:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16762924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_morning/pseuds/blue_morning
Summary: It’s the only Vietnamese restaurant in North Platte, Nebraska. Dean is suspicious of nearly everything about it, but for once Cas rides roughshod over his traditionalist tendencies when it comes to food and orders for the both of them from the oversized menu -- a cryptic “double order of #4 and two medium #102s”. Dean puts up a token resistance, but says, “Well, whatever floats your boat, Cas” a bit pissily before giving in.





	Crazy Pho You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sconesandtextingandmurder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/gifts).



> A big thank you to Janet for supporting Team TrashBrigade's Gish scholarship funding drive. I am squeaking this in before the actual announcement, so my conscience is clear. Janet asked for a fic where Dean thinks he's acting cool, but he's really not.
> 
> And thanks to Nat, friend, beta, Trashsister, for her thoughtful edit of this. 
> 
> I love all my sisters. Ride or die.

It’s the only Vietnamese restaurant in North Platte, Nebraska. Dean is suspicious of nearly everything about it, but for once Cas rides roughshod over his traditionalist tendencies when it comes to food and orders for the both of them from the oversized menu -- a cryptic “double order of #4 and two medium #102s”. Dean puts up a token resistance, but says, “Well, whatever floats your boat, Cas” a bit pissily before giving in. 

He’s texting Sam to let him know they’ll be home before midnight when the waitress brings them crispy fried spring rolls and dipping bowls of fish sauce along with a pot of jasmine tea and two tiny cups that Dean side-eyes immediately. He doesn't do tea, and he sure as hell doesn't do tiny cups.

Dean picks up his spring roll with his fingers, hissing at the temperature. It doesn’t stop him from dipping it into the sauce and crunching into it. It’s good – hot and crispy and satisfying despite being at least 80% vegetable. The second one doesn’t last long either. Cas is looking at Dean fondly as flakes of spring roll wrapper fly like shrapnel over the table. Cas breaks his in two and uses his chopsticks to expertly manipulate the spring roll into the sauce and into his mouth. _Show off._

Cas pours them each a tiny cup of tea. It’s pale yellow and smells flowery. Dean follows the path of the cup up as Cas raises it to his lips, finding it disturbingly hard to drag his eyes away when Cas sips, his eyes falling to Cas’s throat as he swallows. He’s still getting used to the idea that their recently evolved relationship means he gets to look openly now, no more stolen glances like a goddamn romance novel. Cas meets his gaze with a slightly raised eyebrow. Flustered, Dean picks up his own thimble and sips at it gingerly. 

“I still think it was witches, you know,” he says.

“Dean, we checked everywhere. No hex bags, no hex coins. It’s likely it was just a run of bad luck for that high school.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to the parents of two dead kids. I don’t believe in luck. Good or bad.”

Interrupting Dean’s griping, the waitress brings two bowls of pho over and deposits a plate with bean sprouts, sprigs of basil and quarters of limes on the table. Dean inhales. The aroma of the broth and the slices of rare beef and shrimp wontons floating atop the long rice noodles is enticing. Cas starts plucking the basil leaves off one of the sprigs, rolling them up and then ripping them into little pieces and dropping them in his soup. Dean watches him.

“How do you even know what to do with all the extra stuff?” he asks. There is so much he still doesn’t know about Cas.

“I’ve been banished more than once. Remember I when called you from a dog track in Australia?” Cas pauses to squeeze lime into his bowl.

“Yeah.”

“Well, another time I ended up in Nha Trang. I spent a few weeks there until I was powered up enough to fly back. I learned how to eat pho while I was there.” He uses his chopsticks to pick up a piece of beef from his soup and eats it.

“Huh.” Dean looks suspiciously at the chopsticks that are wrapped in a napkin beside his placemat next to the oddly shaped ceramic spoon.

“They’ll bring you a fork, if you’d rather, Dean.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Dean bristles at the implication that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, despite the fact that he legitimately doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“You think I haven’t used chopsticks before, Cas?” He knows he’s being a dick, but he can’t help it. He can hear the tone jump immediately into his voice. The same one he got when Cas questioned whether he’d packed the dead man’s blood in the Impala’s trunk the last time they’d headed out after vampires in upstate New York; the one that means _I know what the fuck I’m doing, Cas, I’m not an idiot._

Dean shakes the chopsticks loose from the napkin without taking his eyes off Cas. _Challenge accepted._

Cas sighs and deftly fishes a wonton out of the bowl and into his mouth. Dean fumbles briefly with the chopsticks, getting them situated a non-standard but marginally effective grip. After a couple of abortive attempts, he mounts an attack on a dumpling. A small wave of broth crests the rim of the bowl and splashes on the table.

“This thing is harder to stab than a lamia.”

“You have a little...” Cas gestures at his own shirt. Dean looks down, his chest is pressed against the tables edge, and the puddle of pho broth has soaked a line into the front of his Black Sabbath tee.

“Shit.” Dean dabs at it with his napkin. “You know, this wouldn’t have happened if we went for burgers.”

“You can’t just live on burgers.”

“Yeah? Watch me.”

Cas sighs and grabs some noodles with his chopsticks. He leans over and slurps them up expertly. Dean follows suit, but manages to splatter everything in a two-foot radius with a fine layer of broth. It tastes good, but really this is way too much fucking work for soup. Cas is alternating using his chopsticks and spoon, and Dean is momentarily distracted when Cas’s hand closes around the cylindrical squeeze bottle with a rooster on it. _A rooster. Heh._ Cas notices him blushing and the small smile that Dean sees appear on his lips makes him think that they might be thinking about the same memory from the saggy bed of the Cheyenne Motor Inn the night before, their haste to touch, the fact that they hadn’t even managed to remove all their clothes before falling on the bed, ravenous for each other.

“That hot sauce?” Dean asks, pretending he wasn’t just reliving all their recent greatest hits.

“Yes.”

Dean motions for him to pass it over.

“Dean, be careful. It’s pretty…” Cas stops, but it’s too late.

Dean gives him a look and squeezes the bottle. Hard. He stirs his broth with his ceramic spoon and the broth turns reddish. He lifts a spoonful to his mouth. Cas winces.

Dean has a nanosecond to wonder what his face looks like as Cas’s eyes widen. But then his mouth is full of lava and his eyes are full of tears and he feels like the room is suddenly 500 degrees Fahrenheit. Cas hands him a napkin as he splutters, and pushes a glass of water within reach.

“Dean.” Cas’s voice is resigned. “You don’t have to prove anything. We can go back to Cheyenne if you’re convinced that those deaths aren’t natural -- well not ‘natural’ but not ‘not supernatural.’ And you can ask for a fork.”

Dean’s about to argue, again, but he changes course and grins, while wiping his eyes. “Yeah, that was kinda like the splash zone in a dolphin show, wasn’t it?” He pushes the bowl away. “I’m sorry Cas. I just have the feeling that we missed something at the high school. The swim coach was setting off my radar, but I didn’t look any deeper.”

Cas fishes another wonton out of his bowl and leans across the table to pop it into Dean’s mouth. He’s only a little surprised Dean lets him. 

“Well, we could head back there, grab a burger and a motel room and go back to the school in the morning,” Dean says as he pulls some bills out of his wallet to leave on the table, and slides out of the booth. They cross to the door, the bell tinkling as they step out into the chill fall night. “Maybe we’ll have better luck this time.”

“I thought you ‘didn’t believe in luck, good or bad’?” Cas says, grabbing his hand as they walk toward the Impala.

“Well,” Dean says, pushing Cas up against the car and kissing him, “maybe I do believe in luck a little.”

“Yeah?” Cas asks as he slides his hand up under Dean’s tee shirt for a second, his touch teasing.

“But do you know what I believe in for sure?” Dean asks as he pulls away to unlock the car door.

“What?”

Dean smiles. “Getting lucky.”


End file.
